


Making Plans

by DerrythLavellan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Mentions, Elf things, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Major Spoilers, More angst, Post-Game, Spoilers, Violence, elfy angst, i guess, if Trespasser wasn't a thing, pretty far in the future here, slightly suggestive behavior i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerrythLavellan/pseuds/DerrythLavellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fen'Harel returns to an abandoned Skyhold, over a hundred years after the events in Inquisition.<br/>Since finishing the Trespasser DLC I've decided to stop working on this. However I am working on some pre-inquisition origin story for my Lavellan, and some post-Trespasser stuff as well!!<br/>____</p><p>This is my first fan-fiction. Ever. So be kind :P</p><p>I literally have no idea how this will be received, and frankly, I'm a bit scared! I've had this idea in my head for awhile now and I am glad to finally get it started. </p><p>This is all post game, but future chapters or additions to the series won't be (meaning flashbacks!!!!). If you see typos or anything, please let me know!! And please let me know if you enjoyed it enough to want to read more. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As soon as he reached the entrance, a gust of wind parted the clouds looming over the massive fortress. It was later in the day but the sun was strong. It would’ve been easier if the clouds had stayed. The light made it seem more real. Although he wasn’t cold, he pulled his hood up as far as it would go. Silently, he casted a glance over his shoulder at the crumbling bridge. It had been passible, but just barely. Over the last century the elements had certainly taken their toll.

In one predatory movement he step forwards towards the main stairs to the upper yard, not allowing himself another moment of hesitation. He moved through tall weeds, and carefully stepped around puddles and patches of snow. To his right he could see the remnants of the barn that once held the Inquisition’s mounts. He could almost hear the bellowing call of a hart, and the nicker of one of the ponies. Only one wall of the main barn remained partially upright but it was tinged black from fire, the rest was a pile of wood, charred and crumbling. He briefly wondered what could’ve caused it, but he banished the thought from his mind.

The stone stairs in front of him were mostly intact, but covered in lichen from decades of no foot traffic. He supposed that birds and small mammals were the only ones that used it now. Thedas was thawing, and the snow was melting quickly. Small waterfalls were coming off of Skyhold’s many ramparts and roofs, and the wall between the lower and upper yard appeared as if it were melting. As he climbed the steps, he felt the magic from the ancient fortress thrumming against his bare feet. Ravens were bickering on the ramparts and for a moment, he half expected to see Cole tossing them bread.

He turned to the right, and headed towards the tavern, stopping in the doorway to peak inside. A thick layer of dust hid the wooden floors. Many of the tables and chairs still remained, although thrown about, and Krem’s usual seat was left unmoved. He noticed foot prints in the dust, leading towards the bar. He followed them and found a bedroll covered in cobwebs, and a few discarded glass bottles. A hunter, or bandit he figured. Anger flared up in his chest at the thought of some thieving shem hiding out in his vhenan’s tavern, HER fortress. She would’ve told him it didn’t matter. That this person, whomever they were, needed Skyhold just as they had. That Skyhold was for anyone who needed shelter.

He started back outside, this time ignoring the spring snow under his feet. The stairs to the hold were equally covered in lichen, but no stone out of place. He ascended them quickly. Somehow remembering her made him want to get it over with even more. As if the pain he felt by being there would diminish the faster he left. But she was dead. And as long as he existed, the pain would never fade.

Skyhold’s doors were weathered for sure, but nonetheless formidable. A wave of his staff sent them flying open, slamming into stone with a deafening thud. Birds who had found refuge in the main hall took to the air, screaming out of the broken painted glass windows behind where her throne still sat. The Orlesian statues loomed above, as pristine as the last day he saw them, save a layer of dust.

As he moved down the hall his hood fell back and revealed a long, matted mane which flowed behind him. The sensation made him painfully aware of how he looked…and how he presented himself the last time he walked this keep. Being in this place, her place, as his true self, made him want to turn and run. He felt like he was finally telling her the truth.

Fen’Harel stood in front of the throne. The seat she despised, but had grown to accept. Josie had told her that an Andrastian Throne would gain her more favor amongst the devout who visited there. And help to cancel out the outrage that the Dalish banners had caused. She had initially rejected the idea, laughing and demanding a Quanari bench instead.

When the bench arrived however, her advisors grimaced. She had walked in on Josie reluctantly ordering workers where to put it, but when Lavellan had seen her pained face, and the utter look of horror on those around her she relented. “I was half joking” she told him that night, a guilty smile on her lips. “I honestly didn’t think they’d send away for it…” He had raised his eyebrows playfully before reaching out to kiss her.

Now he reached out to touch the throne instead, leaving a trail on the dusty stone seat. He had once thought that the pain he held in his heart could not possibly hurt any worse. He was wrong. Perhaps coming here was a bad idea. But it was too late, he needed to finish what he started.

He turned and strode towards the rotunda, his old study. He heard the sound of the waterfall as he passed the door to the underforge, it sounded louder than it had all those years ago. Fen’Harel weaved in and out of the broken tables and chairs, very nearly stepping on a pile of feathers and bone that had once been a bird. He creaked open the first door to find that the inner most door had been completely removed from it’s hinges. It lay across the room a few feet from one of his frescos. Above the fallen door, a large scrape across the paint stood out. The blemish was violent in nature, and no doubt purposeful.

Fen’Harel closed his eyes and took a deep breath as pangs of guilt radiated across his body. When he opened them, his eyes immediately searched for his desk. But the desk, and his chair, were gone. Instead he noticed a collection of plain, wooden chairs and small tables pushed against the walls, and surrounding the large white couch he once slept on. From across the room he could tell that the couch had been torn open, and claimed as a nest by some small creature. Surprisingly, the scaffolding next to the entrance was still intact, as was it’s ladder.

At the top, a small collection of empty bottles law strewn about accompanied by an almost perfectly neat stack papers and a single pillow. Someone had been here, and not long ago. Immediately Fen’Harel drew his staff, and took up a defensive position.

He cast Pull Of the Abyss, to draw out any hidden enemies. His magic groaned and sparked, distorting everything it touched. The entire rotunda glowed green, and as the spell reached further out into Skyhold, the magic appeared to be flowing from the walls itself. Fen’Harel’s power was no more evident than in this moment. It took 10 seconds for the spell to envelope the entire main building. He knew that from outside, Skyhold glimmered ferociously. If anyone remained outside the reach of the spell, they would’ve fled in terror. It had been a show, a flamboyant display of power that was largely unnecessary. But he had mana to spare and then some.

He withdrew the magic, and staff in hand he climbed the ladder. When he reached the top he was surprised to find that the wood was remarkably sturdy…and almost dust free. He gently leaned his staff on the wall, and maneuvered himself backwards so that his back was against the cold hard stone.

Fen’Harel turned his head to glance at the stack of papers on his right. Some were torn, and all were discolored. Reaching out he grabbed a smaller pile and placed them gently on his lap. He lifted the first sheet up to his face, and immediately recognized his own handwriting.

Turning his attention to the pile in his lap he quickly thumbed through the pages. It was his research from his time spent in the Inquisition. And by the size of the pile he guessed it was all of it. He wasn’t sure how long he spent going through them but by the time he reached the last few pages he was acutely aware that whomever piled them here did so with great care. It was all in order, every single page, even his elaborate diagrams. He wondered briefly if this had been the same person who had taken up residence in the tavern. And if so, what would a drunken shem be doing with his research? It wasn’t exactly light reading.

With mild curiosity he gathered the papers and stacked them back where they were. He could at least appreciate this person’s organization. It was likely sunset by now, and he had a quite a trek back to the working Eluvian. It had been a disappointment when he realized the one in Skyhold was no longer there. In fact when he had tried to access it at the Crossroads it couldn’t be found. Destroyed…or perhaps warded.

Fen’Harel gathered his legs under him and reached out to to grab his staff. He had two places left to visit and it was time to get it over with. Feet firmly back on the stone ground, he brought the hood back over his head.

He was mid-step when he felt it. An inexplicable urge to stop washed over him. It sent electricity down his spine, and through his feet. It was familiar, but foreign. Strangely calming, but deeply unsettling. He looked up, all the way up, until his eyes found what he was looking for.

A dark figure stood on the highest mezzanine, unobstructed by the railing that had long since fallen. It was unmoving, and almost unrecognizable as a person. A human or dwarf wouldn’t have been able to see it in such dim lighting. Instinctively, he reached for his staff. But what he saw when his hand reached it’s haft made him freeze.

The figure’s left hand was glowing a distinctive, powerful green.


	2. Chapter 2

“Leave.” Her voice was strong, and unwavering. The anchor flared angrily, making her look all the more formidable from below. 

He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. 

“Leave.” She repeated. She cast a rift in the middle of the rotunda, in an effort to convince the elf to obey.

Fen’Harel unfurled his fingers from his staff, and let his hand drop by his side. He bent his knee and forced himself to bow his head. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of her. But he had to do something besides stare.

“Ir abelas…Ma nuvenin.” He stood slowly, and head still bowed he backed out of the rotunda and into the main hall. In one quick movement he lifted his head, and brought up his hood. Stumbling backwards, his hands found a table to lean against. He was visibly shaking. How embarrassing it would’ve been if the Pantheon could see him now. The mighty Dread Wolf, barely able to stand. 

How was this even possible? She was dead. He had intercepted the ravens announcing her passing. He’d visited her funeral in the Fade. The had coffin burned, and the Inquisitor was reduced to ashes. All of Thedas had mourned, and almost all of Thedas had attended the memorial service to pay their respects. Except for him.

Could she be a demon, he thought? No…no, his spell would’ve pulled Desire out of hiding in an instant. The only thing he knew for sure is that he couldn't leave now. 

After a few minutes, he righted himself and closed his eyes. Pulling himself up to full height he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and reached for his staff. 

As Solas, the slender yet muscular elvhen man could intimidate many. If not by simply being, then by the magic he wielded. But as Fen’Harel, as his true self, he was truly terrifying. Fen’Harel oozed power and confidence. And when he needed to, his particular mixture of charm and danger could persuade almost anyone to do his bidding, mortal or not.

When he opened his eyes, he was the Dread Wolf once more.

He turned back towards his old study and strode forward, purposefully. He could already hear her reaching the end of the steps the wound their way up to the rookery. 

“You haven’t left.” She was standing in the stairwell entrance, with an arrow already knocked. Her voice was calm, and her face obscured by a cowl.

“No. I haven’t.” Bringing his staff down to the ground he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. A wolfish grin. “Who are you?” It was a demand, and his voice made sure that that much was obvious. 

“Leave. Now.” She nodded her head towards the archway leading to the main hall. When he didn’t move, she pulled back on her bow and narrowed her eyes. “This is not a request. Leave.”

He laughed at that, and brought his free-hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose, feigning mere annoyance. When he moved his hand away, he was no longer smiling. 

“Tell me who you are.” 

“No.” Came the reply.

Enough. He wouldn’t have given anyone else such courtesy. He would already have them bleeding, and screaming before him. In an instant he was rushing forward with his staff at the ready, growling and closing fast. 

She aimed her arrow at his heart, and released. With wave of his staff the arrow was frozen midair, and smiling he sent it shattering down on the ground. She didn’t have time to react and suddenly he was on top of her, throwing her into the wall. 

Her body hit the stone with a sickening thud that left her gasping for air.

“No! Please! Ir ablelas haren! Ir abelas!.” She wriggled in his grip. “Haren, please. I meant no disrespect. Don’t hurt me, I beg of you. I’ll leave, you can have it all. I’m no one. I’m no one.” He released her and she fell to the ground, sobbing. 

Fear, and guilt and sadness tore at his heart as he knelt down in front of her. She was sobbing hysterically now, shoulders heaving up and down. She smelled like whiskey. 

Slowly he reached up towards her cowl, stopping momentarily when she flinched. He had begun to pull it back when it came undone altogether and fell, as if on it’s own accord. Long, knotted red hair fell onto her shoulders and she looked up at the man kneeling before her. 

It was her. Unmistakably her. But where her proud, taunting gray eyes should be, haunted green ones took their place. 

Without a second thought he stood, and reached his hand out to hers. “Come, da’len.” She sniffed, gathered her legs under herself and put her hand in his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! Sorry about the wait, I've been super busy. I wrote this fairly quickly so I am sure there are some grammatical errors and typos. If anything stands out please let me know!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please if you are enjoying this leave a comment or bookmark it. You all keep me motivated. :)
> 
> Minor Content Warning for threatening nature.

At the farthest corner in the main hall, to the left behind the throne, Derryth slept in a pile of old skins and hay. Fen’Harel sat legs outstretched a few feet away. He had been watching her for hours. 

Skyhold was illuminated by a handful of balls of light he had cast. Despite their excellent elven nightvision, he noticed her unease when the hall grew dark. He had cast the lights no questions asked.

Once she fell asleep, he warded the fortress and took a seat on the hard floor, against the wall. He didn’t know how badly he needed to rest until he leaned back and took a deep breath. 

She was alive. He hadn’t seen her in over 100 year but yet there she was. She was dirty and scared, more than a little bit drunk and utterly hopeless. But she was still his vhenan. While his heart swelled at the sight of her, he wasn’t sure if she should be alive at all, or if it was what was best for her. All this time…all that she must have seen. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stop going down that road, at least for the moment. He needed to focus on the present, something he never excelled at. 

The flickering light bounced off the walls in the derelict hall, and the sound of light rain reminded him of the first time they set foot in Skyhold. Well, his first time with the Inquisition anyway. It almost made him smile.

Reaching into his satchel, he extracted a few bottles of health potion and stood. She could sleep for hours he was sure, but he was concerned and just slightly impatient. Quietly, he walked to her head and crouched down to study her face.

She had a number of new scars on her cheeks and brow. Even closed, her eyes looked tired. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, and dried blood under her nose had somehow created a large smear down to her chin. Her cheeks, once smooth and freckled were hauntingly pale and hollow. It was clear that she hadn’t eaten something substantial in some time. He would hunt at first light.

Her hair stood out the most. It was still it’s usual vibrant red, but she had kept it short in the past. 

“Why would I let it grow out? What would they speak of me if I did? ‘Oh yes, the Inquisitor. She was killed by a bear when her hair got in her eyes, and her arrow missed and hit a scout in the knee instead.’ Please, save me that rhetoric. I’m an archer, not some fancy Orlesian lady.” Josephine had hired a number of beauty and fashion consultants before the ball at the Winter Palace and their opinions on the Inquisitor’s choice of hairstyle had not been particularly welcomed.

Everyone had snickered at the comment that had caused the consultants to bow and exit the room, humiliated. Fen’Harel had smiled at her warmly, and she managed a wink in his direction. He loved her fierce nature, and her ability to stay true to herself, despite the appearance she was often forced to uphold. The memory made him hum aloud with fondness, which woke her from her sleep.

They looked at each other for a few moments before he spoke. “Drink this. Sit up.” He gestured to the two bottles in front of him. 

Slowly she scooted backwards to lean against the wall. He moved quickly to help and reached out to her with his hand. With glowing green eyes she looked at him defiantly and propped herself up. 

Fen’Harel made a point to give her a look of annoyance but this simple refusal of help gave him hope. “There she is”, he mused to himself. “There is some left of her.”

Derryth grabbed a bottle, uncorked it and took two hearty swigs while keeping her eyes locked on the strange elven man in front of her. He had turned his gaze to the entrance in an effort to avoid eye contact. She moved on to the second bottle and when she was done, she gathered her legs under her and brought herself more upright against the wall. 

Out of the corner of her eyes she spied her quiver and bow leaning against the throne. She had regained some strength back but even with sleep and two health potions there was no feasible way she could get to them in time. She had seen his magic, and his speed. A pitiful moment of weakness and desperation had put her at his mercy. She was certain he could kill her before she even got to her feet. 

“I’m not going to kill you.” The elven man raised an eyebrow and they locked eyes. “You’ve been sleeping for hours, if your death is what I desired it would be done.” 

She narrowed her eyes and remained silent. 

“You never answered my question.” Fen’Harel stood directly above her now. He was walking a thin line. The more kindness he showed the quicker this would fall apart. He couldn’t be outright violent now, not towards her. Yet he had to maintain control over the situation. He let his eyes scan her body, from her bare feet, to her exposed hip bones and cracked lips. “I have all the time in the world. I can wait.” A dangerous, leering smile would have to suffice.

“My name is Derryth. I am a thief, an archer and a drunk.” 

His smile faded, and he allowed himself to break his gaze. 

“A drunken criminal with glowing green eyes. How unique.” He took a step back and gestured her to stand. She struggled to her feet, and could only manage it with the help of the stone behind her. 

“The polite course of action would be to introduce yourself now, hahren.” she said bravely. 

“I’ll concede that point Lady Derryth. My…name is Harel. First of a rather small, and now disbanded clan from the Exhalted Plains.”

“Ha! A Dalish First, still introducing himself as such in these times. And I thought I was worthless.” Derryth rolled her eyes and pushed her hair back. “Well, Harel, it’s been a pleasure. Please feel free to take anything you find as payment for the potions. I am sure you have other matters to attend to. Don’t allow me to keep you any longer.” She waved her hand in his direction and started towards the throne.

Swiftly, he moved behind her and laid his arm over her upper chest, preventing her from moving forward. He leaned his head in close to her ear. “How kind you are Lady Derryth. While I do in fact have other business to attend to, I don’t believe we are done here.” He cast a glance out the broken glass windows behind his left shoulder. “It is the middle of the night, and journeying down the mountain in this dark would surely spell my demise. Plus, I find you rather intriguing and I can’t say that my curiosity is quenched just yet.” 

Fen’Harel felt her stiffen, and the hair on the back of her neck stand. He hated himself for what he was doing. He had caused her enough pain to last a lifetime, yet he was forcing himself to threaten her with the possibility of ever more. Channeling his former self, he knew that his act was more than convincing. He felt her gulp under the weight of his arm and guilt spread over his body. 

“As you wish.” She relented quietly. He released her and she tentatively went back to the pile of furs. She cast a glance at him before sitting down in the corner. He needed to keep her there, to question her, to protect her. But the guilt that ate away at his chest won out over The Dread Wolf.

“Sleep” he said, while picking up his staff to strengthen the wards “No harm will come to you, you have my word.” He sat down in front of her, staff at his side and looked at her directly in the eyes. For a brief moment he saw something there, in the glowing green swirls of her eyes. A look of recognition perhaps? But it quickly passed, and she scooted forward to lay down.

“Ok” she murmured. She believed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little rough, apologies! I've started on chapter 5 which I promise will be much more interesting, and filled with dialog. :)

She was still asleep when he pulled himself from the Fade. He had purposefully kept his adventures rather dull that night, opting to wander the uninhabited wilderness that surrounds Skyhold instead of delving deep into the area’s violent history.

Derryth was curled up on her furs in the corner, her breath steady and rhythmic as she slept soundly. Even though the circumstances were less than ideal, it was comforting to once again hear her breathing. He longed to reach out and hold her close, to feel her body melt into his. But for now just having her near him would do. 

Fen’Harel stood up and stretched. Sleeping on the cold, hard stone had made his back stiff, and neck ache. He made a mental note to gather something more appropriate bedding when possible. There had to be more skins and furs somewhere in the keep.

He drew out another health potion and set it beside her. Reaching back into his leather satchel he took out his quill and a small pot of ink to scribble down a note. It took some effort to change his handwriting from his perfectly flowing, small script. She had often commented on his handwriting while studying his notes on the fade, or smiling at a personal letter. She he forced his hand to write large, and sloppily. 

Gathering food. I will return.  
-H

 

He laid the note next to the bottle, and made his way in the direction of the garden. With luck, he’d find enough for the both of them.

~~~

She hadn’t slept this deeply in who knows how long. Usually drinking was the only thing that could get her to pass out, but even then it wasn’t as restful as it was now. Until it wasn’t. 

There had been nothing, just utter peace. Her mind had been blissfully void of any dream. And then, blind fear. All Derryth knew was that she was suddenly torn from her slumber by her own screaming. 

“No! Please, no!” Her chest was heaving, and her entire body was shaking. For a moment the only thing she could think to do was run, although she didn’t know why. She was in an utter panic. Sweat covered her face, her hair sticking to her forehead and neck. A small flutter of wings from above caused her to yelp as she stifled a scream. The feeling passed, as she realized her surroundings and pulled herself from the haze of sleep.

Without looking she laid out a hand on the stone floor to steady herself. She barely noticed the small bottle beneath her hand as it crushed, sending small shards of glass into her palm.

Derryth sat motionless for a moment, watching the potion pool around her hand. It traveled down the small indentations between the stone like small streams. The scent of elfroot filled the air, and then she saw the note. 

With shaking hands she brought it to her lap to read, and allowed herself to let out a tentative sigh of relief. She didn’t know this elf, and she didn’t particularly trust him. He seemed unpredictable, and certainly dangerous. Yet there was something else about him that made her curious, made her want him to stay. At least for the time being.

The last person she spoke to had been a bandit she encountered while out hunting many days ago. It hadn’t exactly been a very interesting conversation. It had ended rather abruptly, with her arrow in his chest. Having this strange man, this Dalish First, wander into Skyhold at least meant she wasn’t alone. At this point, she’d take a dangerous mage over being alone. For now. 

~~~  
Outside in the garden, Fen’Harel found exactly what he was looking for. And more.

It was completely overrun with plants. To the untrained eye, they would appear to be common weeds and grasses. The sight of it would cause Orlesian horticulturalists to faint. To call the garden unruly, would be an understatement. 

Elfroot growing almost a meter in length. Embrium so plentiful that you could barely find an area without it. Black lotus sprouting up near a small pond that formed against the back wall and rashvine invading the gazebo and crystal grace clinging to logs, and roots. 

Near the benches, where Morrigan used to spend her days grew a small, almost unrecognizable vegetable garden. It was still early in the season and while the squash and pumpkin would not be ready, a few tomatoes appeared to be ripe enough. He placed them in his small linen bag along with some small dark orange roots that would be good to stew. 

He wriggled his toes deep into the dirt, and closed his eyes. The magic that was seeped into the very mountain felt electric under his feet. Tarasyl'an Te'las may go by Skyhold now, but the elven magic beneath had never faded.

A rustle behind broke him from his trance. Without turning he knew that not far off a rabbit was feeding. Silently, he turned and pulled out a small dagger from his belt. He inched forward, listening intently. A few more steps…there it is. A flash of steel and it was over. The rabbit hadn’t even known he was there. 

A few minutes later, and he was headed back. He hadn’t exactly stumbled upon a 5 course meal, but it was enough to get both of them through the day relatively satisfied. Along with the rabbit and vegetables, he had gathered a handful of tiny strawberries the grew near the well. They were sour, just how she liked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some relatively non-graphic descriptions of animal death/butchering in this one. I don't do well with descriptions of animal death...or eating animals...so it's pretty nondescript. 
> 
> Also some sassyness. :p

In the main hall, Derryth had almost finished picking out the bits of glass from her right palm. She grimaced as she dug in with her knife to release one last piece. 

“Fehendis!” She startled at the sound of a door slamming shut, no doubt signaling the return of one mysterious Dalish First. The result of her innate jumpiness was a deep wound that spanned the entirety of her palm. She started at the dripping blood with mild annoyance. At least the glass was out. 

Sighing, Derryth peered up at her visitor, who had somehow crossed the throne room within a matter of seconds. He was setting down a small bag, and a not-so-small rabbit. 

“Hurt yourself?” His tone suggested more than a bit of smugness as he went about pulling the vegetables out from his bag. He placed them meticulously on a thin piece of leather and set a dagger beside them.

She ignored him and stood, keeping her wounded hand away from her body. With her other hand she tucked her long, crimson hair behind her ears, wincing when it caught on one of her many earrings. She stretched, closing her eyes and rolling her shoulders to lessen the tension in her back that at this point seemed more or less permanent. 

When she opened her eyes he was in front of her, staring intently at her face. He was so close that she could smell the dirt from the garden on his clothing. Without breaking his gaze, he motioned to the strip of fabric he held in his hand. 

Wordlessly, she reached for it with her left hand and he paused for a moment, allowing his fingers to linger on hers. Her anchor flared ever so subtly at his touch and she snatched her hand away angrily. 

Fen’Harel furrowed his brow and turned his attention back to the food preparation. 

“So…you’re a Dalish First no doubt a powerful healer, and you hand me a piece of cloth? Did your keeper skip that lesson? Or do you just want me in a weakened state?” Derryth’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but hinted at something deeper. She was afraid. 

Fen’Harel set the knife down and faced her, looking at her from under his now unkempt dark mane. 

“No. I do not want you hurt, or weakened. Forgive me, da’len, for my actions last night. I had not expected another to be here, let alone a skilled archer wielding such dangerous, unknown magic. In truth, you startled me…you still startle me.” He smiled, apologetically. “Of course I will heal your hand. You have but to ask.” 

With a flick of his hand the cut on her palm disappeared.

“Hm. Perhaps I miss judged the abilities of your Keeper. “ She offered him a slight smile and he laughed genuinely. 

“Perhaps you did.” Fen’Harel laid the rabbit down flat on it’s back and began to butcher it. 

With her hand now healed, Derryth ran her fingers through her hair, catching them on tangles and breaking through them. She focused on the man kneeling in front of her and noted his precision with a knife as he skinned the rabbit. But mostly she was looking at him, his person. 

This supposed Dalish first was awfully powerful, and more than a little bit frightening. He had certainly meant to scare her the night before, but his sudden change in behavior scared her more. Instead of threatening to kill her as he did only hours ago, he was clearly now set on healing and feeding her. It made little sense.

She was fairly convinced that he had no intentions of killing her, at least not at the moment. Yet she was equally convinced that his change in demeanor pointed at something larger. 

She supposed he could in fact be Dalish, but he had no vallaslin. It was uncommon, but not unheard of since their true meaning was made known. And his name, Harel? Either his mother was incredibly cruel, or he was lying. The latter seemed much more likely. 

Derryth barely noticed that he had already skinned, gutted and quartered the rabbit and was now staring at her intensely, with ice blue eyes. His voice broke through her thoughts. 

“Now, should we make a stew?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

“Oh. Yes, sure. That would be best. I’ll uh, gather some water.” She walked towards the door to the under forge in a hurry. 

Fen’Harel was left shaking his head, a smile playing at his lips. There was nothing Derryth hated more than rabbit stew.


End file.
